Bringing Me Back

by Beth Vrabel

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  I stared into the woods again, thinking about what Rina said. I heard twigs snapping. Then a shadow took shape just inside the woods. And I took off running. “The bear!”

  “Noah! Wait!”

  But I didn’t. I couldn’t. She was just in front of me!

  Rina didn’t follow me. She ran into the Shop. I dimly heard her yelling for Jeff and Mr. Davies. Soon I heard Jeff bellowing. “Noah! Get back here!”

  I did stop. But only because the bear was right in front of me.

  She faced me, dragging in air through her snout. Maybe it was the bucket that amplified the sound, turning the growl that came next into a roar that seemed to rumble through me. I could just spy her mouth hanging open to reveal a tongue splattered with blue. Huffing, snorting, she shook her head back and forth as she tried to take me in.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

  I stepped slowly toward her. She pawed at the ground and stepped back, but didn’t run like I thought she would, even as Jeff, Mr. Davies, and Rina crashed through the woods behind us.

  She rose up her back feet, slamming down her front paws and making a creaking, grunting snort. Head swinging again, she turned toward the woods. She was on the verge of running. I knew it. But she was so weak. It was like a war going on in inside of her, I think. Mr. Davies’s lecture on animals’ instincts for fight or flight whispered in my head. As the three of them got closer to us, I could see flight winning out.

  This was it. We were both out of time.

  So I did something really stupid.

  I jumped on the bear.

  The bear stood for a minute, shaking all over. Her head reared back, and I knew she would’ve ripped into me if her head wasn’t muzzled by the bucket. “Noah!” Jeff stormed. He threw himself at us and grabbed my arms, trying to rip me off of her.

  “You’ve got to help her!” I screamed into his face. “Help her!” The bear shuddered under me, and fell to her side. She kept grunting, but it was wheezy and desperate. She clawed at the air. “Do something!”

  Jeff’s eyes locked with mine over the bear. He grabbed at the bucket and yanked. The bear cried out in another creaking groan, but the bucket didn’t budge. Jeff gripped the bear, his hands over mine. “You let go,” he ordered me. “I need you to run into the Shop and grab some bolt cutters.” Jeff looked up at Mr. Davies. “You! Help me hold down the bear.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Do it!” I had never heard Jeff yell before. For just a second, I saw the furious kid Trenton had described.

  I guess Mr. Davies did, too, because he flipped his tie over his shoulder and leaned over the bear, holding her down with Jeff. I paused half a second then tore off to the Shop. I was back in under a minute, bolt cutters in hand. Rina stood to the side on her phone, trying to reach Ron.

  “Now, listen,” said Jeff, his voice steady again. “You’re going to have to get close to her, but I want you behind her head. I’m holding her head down. You’re going to wedge the cutters under the edge of this plastic. Cut and pull. And do it quick.”

  “So she can’t get away?” I asked, already leaning in. I had to put my knee above her leg to get the cutters under the plastic.

  “That, and we’re going to be late,” Jeff muttered.

  “My conference!” Mr. Davies moaned.

  “Shut up!” Jeff and I said at the same time.

  I threw my body into the cutter and it only made a small dent in the plastic. I did it again and again. The dent turned into a wedge. With one arm, Jeff yanked on the side of the bucket, pulling it farther apart. The muscles in his neck strained and his arm looked like corded rope. Quickly, I lined up the cutters and yanked the blades together as Jeff pulled.

  “It’s working!” Rina cheered. I glanced at her. She held the phone toward us, filming.

  Beneath us, the bear quivered, like she could tell she was almost free. Again, Jeff yanked and I cut.

  At the exact same time, the bear twisted her head back, bucking against our grips and pulling her head free. All three of us fell back as the bear—who had seemed so small a second earlier—got to her feet and suddenly loomed over us. She didn’t stop though, didn’t pause a second, just ripped off into the woods as we cheered.

  Rina jumped up and down, still filming, as Jeff grabbed me with both muddy, scratched-up arms and crushed me against him. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he whispered. “I could’ve lost you. Do you understand?”

  I hugged him back.

  “You did it! You saved her! I can’t wait to post this video!” Rina yelled.

  Mr. Davies stood and wiped at the mud caking his pants and sleeves. “Good, because I’m going to need an excuse for Mr. Anderson for why I didn’t show at the conference.”

  We all turned toward Mr. Davies, and for a second none of us spoke, just stared at him. There was a dark wet spot, stretching out from the groin area of Mr. Davies’s pants. Rina tilted her head and then arched an eyebrow at me.

  At the same time, Mr. Davies realized what we were looking at and crossed his hands over his pants. “I got scared, okay? Don’t tell me you didn’t nearly pee your pants!”

  Rina swung the camera toward Jeff and me. I grinned. “Can’t say I did, Mr. Davies.”

  “You know what? That’s it. I quit. I quit!” Mr. Davies threw his hands in the air and marched back to his car.

  Somehow, we made it to the jail in time.

  Rina, her face glowing and smile huge, had thrown her arms around me in a tight squeeze even though I was covered in mud. She promised to also post the video on all of Bucket Bear’s sites.

  Jeff and I rushed home, changed clothes, cleaned up, and got on the road. Yeah, there was still mud caked in the back of my head. I was sure Jeff’s scratches stung under the sweater he threw on. But we made it.

  On the way, Jeff told me that it wasn’t actually a bucket that had trapped the bear. “That was a maxi. It’s a kind of air bag on tractor trailers that cushions between the cab and trailer. Somehow she got one wedged on her head.”

  It wasn’t a bucket. It hadn’t been my fault all along.

  None of it had been my fault.

  But that didn’t matter. It didn’t take away from how good it felt to have helped her.

  That’s what counts, Mom’s words echoed in my head, that you helped.

  I told Jeff about the huge bear that had been taken out by a truck a couple months earlier. “I bet that was her mother. I kept wondering why such a small bear didn’t have a mother hanging around.”

  Jeff nodded. “That would explain why the bear got tangled up in the maxi. Mom got in trouble and her kid paid for it.” He sighed softly. “Guess you can relate. Both of you too stubborn to let anyone help you until it was almost too late.”

  “You’re the second person to compare me to that bear.”

  “Rina’s a smart girl.”

  We were quiet for a long time. “Do you think she’s going to be okay?” I asked as Jeff put the truck in park outside the jail. He didn’t ask—and I didn’t know—whether we were still talking about the bear.

  He nodded. “The whole experience weakened her. But she’s tough. She’s a fighter. She’s going to be okay.”

  For a second, we sat in silence, staring at the building.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “I’m ready.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A couple years ago, I saw a story on the news about a small black bear in Clarion County, Pennsylvania, with what appeared to be a bucket wedged on its head. The townspeople spotted this bear over the course of several weeks, alerting animal services, setting up a “Save The Bucket Bear” Facebook page, and even attempting to help the bear themselves. In the end, several of them tackled this bear, holding it down while others used tools to set it free.

  A few weeks later, I told my agent I wanted to write a redemption story about a boy trapped by his mistakes and fear. Thank you, Nicole Resc
initi, super agent and beautiful friend, for believing in me even when I quietly added that it’d also be about a bear with a bucket stuck on its head. Nic, you’re just the best.

  I’m also grateful for Jeff Rowe, a family friend and lawyer, who connected me with public defender Greta Davis of north central Pennsylvania. Greta was so generous with her time, explaining to me what Noah’s mom would face in the legal system. Any mistakes in that portrayal, here, are mine alone. When I had questions about sponsorship, Greta connected me with Louis Ortenzio of Celebrate Recovery in Northern West Virginia. Lou’s open heart and powerful message is inspiring change among so many families in the area, giving them the strength they need to manage addiction, incarceration and stigma. Though he’s no longer a doctor, he remains a healer, and it was a privilege to talk with him.

  Thank you also to Deputy Warden Sandie Barone, who offered insight into what Noah’s visits with his incarcerated mom would be like. Again, any mistakes in that process are on me.

  Many, many thanks to the best critique partners a writer could dream of having—Susan Jennings Haller, Lynn Rush, Buffy Andrews, and Emma Vrabel. I love you, ladies. Thank you to Ben Vrabel for the expert insight into soccer stars and football plays.

  I’m especially grateful for Sky Pony Press for launching my career and continuing to support powerful stories. Thank you doesn’t seem enough for editor Becky Herrick, for believing in Noah’s story and making it stronger. I appreciate everyone on the incredible Sky Pony team, including editorial director Alison Weiss, production editor Joshua Barnaby, copy editor Bethany Bryan, cover designer Kate Gartner, and Emma Dubin. Thank you also to Adrienne Szpyrka for being first to fight for Noah.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Beth Vrabel is the award-winning author of A Blind Guide to Stinkville, A Blind Guide to Normal, Caleb and Kit, and the Pack of Dorks series. She can’t clap to the beat or be trusted around Nutella, but indulges in both often, much to the dismay of her family. She lives in the Dallas, Texas area. Visit her online at www.bethvrabel.com.